


A Different Kind of Heat

by Minxie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: KINK: Spanking, M/M, QAF (US), S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin has a kink. One that Brian can definitely get behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to vl_redreign for the beta read!

The first time's an accident. They're in the shower, teasing and talking, basically just fucking around when Justin makes one of his usual smartass remarks.

And Brian's hand connects soundly with the wet, naked flesh of Justin's ass. Once. Nice and hard.

He winces, remembering that Justin is… was, no still _is_ really just an innocent. Brian starts to backtrack, starts to let go, find the words to explain or fucking something, when Justin's eyes close and his mouth falls open and –

_Holy shit_.

Brian recognizes that look, the precursor of curled toes and shots of sticky come. Of Justin moaning his name and arching beneath him.

Now Brian wants to do it again. On the other cheek. Just a touch harder. Marking Justin with a hand-sized blush of color.

Then reality sets back in. With a Kinney-esque smirk.

Little Sunshine has a kink.

One that Brian can definitely get behind. Slowly working and teasing, easing Justin closer and closer to the ultimate goal: Justin over Brian's lap, those damnable uniform pants bunched around his ankles.

As far as plans goes, this is one of Brian's better ones.

He keeps everything playful, smacks Justin on his ass when he least expects it. In the kitchen, in the bathroom, on the couch. But never in the bed.

The bed will only be after Justin is begging for it, giving himself over to Brian knowing that his ass will throb with different hues of pink and red. That the pain will explode into the rush of endorphins. That, in the end, there will be no question that Justin belongs to Brian.

Each touch, each tap from the flat of Brian's hand has Justin stumbling and spluttering over his words, his eyes going vacant and glazed, filling with arousal and want. Followed quickly by confusion and a touch of shame.

It's the shame that Brian is working against. It's the shame that keeps Brian from demanding a safeword and turning Justin ass up over his knees, keeps Brian working his plan. Because there is a difference between the desire for humiliation and the bone-deep self-shame that hides in Justin's eyes.

And his plan is working. Because each time Brian smacks Justin's ass, each time he lets his hand linger just a fraction longer, the shame and the confusion lessen. Until one day, when Brian claps his palm down over Justin's ass, instead of dropping his eyes to the floor, Justin looks at Brian, curiosity and arousal warring in his eyes. "Why do you do that?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Brian rubs his hand over Justin's ass, dragging the towel over the area he's just smacked. "You like it, I like it."

Justin pushes back into Brian's hand. "But – "

Brian draws back and lands another smack against Justin's ass, never once letting his gaze drop away from Justin's eyes. He quirks one brow and waits.

"Oh." Justin pushes high on his toes, shifting in the tight space between Brian's body and the hand still massaging his ass. "Oh, _fuck_."

"Not yet," Brian whispers, connecting with Justin's ass again, in the same fucking spot.

Justin blushes and Brian knows they're getting there. Just not today. Justin doesn't _need_ it. Yet.

So he steps away, trails one hand over Justin's face and whispers, "Only when you're ready to beg for it."

"Beg?"

And heat flares hot in Justin's eyes again even as his blush goes darker.

"You know how to do that, right?" Brain takes over Justin's personal space, hands roving over Justin's arms and his neck, up into his hair and then over, cupping his face. "Know how to beg, don't you? Begged for my cock, begged for me to fuck you… more, harder," and Brian leans in drags his tongue along Justin's jaw, wetting and tasting, "forever."

Justin shudders and whimpers. "Yes."

"When you're ready, Justin." Then Brian kisses him and walks away. And straight to a cold shower. Because, _fuck_…

And, good _Christ_, Brian hopes like hell Justin is ready soon. Because, goddammit, his dick is in a perpetual state of fuck-Justin-now. Justin in his uniform. Justin in a towel. Justin naked in bed. All leading to thoughts and images and fucking daydreams of Justin over Brian's lap, ass covered in handprints and putting out heat.

The next morning Brian leaves a note on the counter, demands Justin is at the loft by seven. The night brings conversations about safewords and consensual kink, responsibilities and white noise pleasures.

It's Saturday night, four days after _the_ talk, in the middle of Babylon, after a couple of hours of dancing that Justin looks at Brian and says, "My safeword is apples."

Suddenly Justin's lack of drinking, his passing on the E makes sense. And Brian has never been as happy to have followed some unspoken lead as he is right now. Because, yeah, sober works well with safewords.

Brian whispers, "Apples. Got it," and they keep dancing, adding to the tension with every touch, every glance.

It takes another hour of dancing, socializing before Justin whispers, "Please. Please, Brian."

"Good boy," and Brian wraps his hand around the back of Justin's neck and leads him through the club and to the jeep.

The trip to the loft takes half what it should. Because all Brian can think of is home and now and Justin's naked ass bearing a perfect red imprint of Brian's hand.

But inside, with the locked door behind them, everything slows down. Stripping… Kissing… Brian leading Justin to the bed and then bending him, positioning Justin over his denim-covered lap, his cock – hard and leaking – nestled between Brian's thighs.

Brian wasn't joking about the begging. He'll hear it long before the night is over.

"Justin."

Justin trembles beneath Brian's hand. "Brian…"

There it is. The small little catch of breath. The one that says that Justin is ready for this, wants it, is damn close to needing it.

Brian holds Justin with his left arm draped over his lower back, fingers flexing rhythmically around Justin's waist. The other, his right, maps the skin of Justin's ass, fingers brushing along the cleft of Justin's ass, down over his hole and then out, to the flesh and muscle held taut and relaxing in turn. "Your word?"

"Apples." Justin cants his head to the side, just enough for Brian to see desire and arousal and… oh, yes. He finally sees the _need_.

"It's the only way I'll stop before I'm done, Justin."

Justin rolls his hips. "Brian. Please… fuck, please…"

Brian waits, listens to the words spilling out of Justin's mouth, and then, when Justin relaxes against Brian's thighs, gives his weight over, Brian murmurs, "Deep breath," and pulls his hand back.

The sound of skin against skin vibrates through the air, the red blossoming over Justin's ass before the first hint of stinging pain sets in and Justin hisses, "Oh, God."

"More?"

Justin shakes his head, the word, "no," streaming out of his mouth. The word 'no' his new mantra.

But not the word 'apples.'

Brian lands three more smacks in quick succession, never hitting the same spot twice but overlapping them, merging them together, blending and creating a collage of pink and red.

"Ride the pain. Make it yours." Then Brian shifts, changes his concentration to unmarked skin, watching as the color rises with each swat.

Justin groans and – obviously turning the corner between pain and pleasure – tilts his ass higher, rubs his cock against Brian's thigh, wetting the denim and the skin hidden beneath. "Please, Brian. Please."

"Such a good boy." And Brian rains down a fast series of swats and smacks, watching closely as he pushes Justin higher, closer to the edge.

When the first tear falls, Brian clips the tender skin where ass meets thigh and Justin explodes. Words tumble out – _fuck, fuck, fuck_ – and, even as more tears fall, Justin comes, hips jerking as he spurts against Brian's leg.

Then it is over.

Justin relaxes completely, a heavy weight over Brian's legs. He murmurs, "oh, God," and "thank you," and "fuck," as Brian maneuvers him to the bed and, rubbing Justin's back, sits and waits for Justin to regroup again.

"Brian." Justin finally stirs, tugs at the zip on Brian's jeans. His words slur together as he pulls at a belt loop. "Brian, fuck me. Now. Please. I need…"

Brian grins, works his jeans down, kicks them off, and then rolls a condom over his cock. He turns, straddles Justin's leg and insinuates himself between the spread legs. Brian fingers Justin's hole, lubes and stretches and then, as he nudges his cock against Justin, prompts, "You need?"

"You. I need… _oh_, fuck," Justin gasps as Brian buries himself balls deep, pushing tight against the heat of Justin's ass in one thrust.

And the grin slides into a smirk. Because now Justin definitely knows exactly who he belongs to.

 

/kink


End file.
